


Just the Ghost of John Watson

by Dustydexx



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, More tags will be added as I go on, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, TW: Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dustydexx/pseuds/Dustydexx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes back to 221B Baker Street, only to find that his best friend and lover is dead. Depression is now life for the truly alone and recently retired detective, Sherlock Holmes. But as the days go by, it comes to Sherlock's awarness that he is most certainly NOT alone in the flat. And it becomes even more evident just who is staying in Sherlock's company, even in the afterlife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Gravestone of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock or it's characters.
> 
> I do, however, own this fanfiction. So all rights reserved to Tennex.

Prologue - Gravestone of the Past

 

"He jumped. From the hospital roof." Mycroft spoke solemnly, eyes refusing to meet his own, instead favouring the dirty rug beneath the two men's feet.

But Mycroft wasn't talking about Sherlock.

"No one saw it happen, it was in the dead of night. But they found him the next morning." Mycroft finally looks up, into his brother's stale and cold blue eyes.

Sherlock doesn't have emotion in his voice. Nothing. No depression, no anger.

It's just....

Detached.

Remote and removed.

It's just.....

Nothing.

"Where is he buried." It isn't a question, it isn't a command. It's a desperate plea. He needs to know. He has to go, has to see him.

"He's by your gravestone, Sherlock."

 

\\\\\Page-Break///

 

It's raining, Sherlock notes numbly in his mind, but that's why he brought the umbrella.

He doesn't care about the rain wetting down his hair and soaking into the fabric of his coat. And the umbrella is not for him when he pulls it out of his coat. 

He opens it with shaking wet fingers and kneels down onto the soaking grass, feeling the water squish against his pants. He sets down the umbrella, smiling a soft smile when the water stops rolling down the gravestone marked "RIP John Hamish Watson. Loving brother and friend." 

Sherlock sits back on his knees and stays there for the longest time, just staring at the slick black gravestone with the words engraved into it.

It takes ten more minutes.

Ten more minutes for the world's only consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes, to break.

"Oh, John. John. I'm so sorry, John. I was supposed to protect you, I-I, I didn't think- I didn't know - I wasn't protecting you and-" 

The tears start to stream as Sherlock leans forward, hands gripping the wet grass tightly, so tightly his nails are slipping and cutting into his own palm.

He sobs. 

He doesn't call out and wail, doesn't bellow and shout at Heaven or down at Hell.

He laments and weeps in the upmost sorrow, sitting in his little space of depression with a broken heart and a broken mind.

Sherlock Holmes has lost his best friend and lover. He lost the man he intended to marry upon his arrival.

Sherlock Holmes had lost his whole world.

And it was his own fault. 

"I love you, John. My John, my blogger. My friend." Sherlock was whimpering and struggling to contain his shaking body. He knew not whether he was shaking from the cold or from the sudden shatter in his reality. It doesn't matter, he decides. 

He pulls a small black box out of his coat pocket, opening it and pulling out two simple gold rings, one with the engraving of "Lost without my blogger." 

Sherlock coughs, trying to keeping his voice steady as he speaks. "I know it's too late, John. But... I love you. I've always loved you and you've always been my world. And that's never going to change." Sherlock declares, as he slips the non-engraved ring onto his finger and digs a small hole infront of the grave, burying the other gold ring in the wet dirt. 

"I love you, John Hamish Watson. I always will." Sherlock places a kiss to the gravestone, standing up afterwards.

He takes his leave, without another glance back. He doesn't dare look back, in fear of breaking, ultimately running back to John's grave and crying again.

He continues forward, though the whole time, it feels like his life is spiraling backwards.

 

And thus begins Sherlock's new life, without John Watson.


	2. A Ghostly Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's move back into 221B Baker Street is normal.
> 
> Until it isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Sherlock, or it's characters.
> 
> I do, however, own this fanfiction. So all rights reserved to Tennex.

Chapter 1 - A Ghostly Welcome Home

 

It was normal at first.

Well, as normal it could be for Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock had moved back into 221B Baker street, unwilling to move anywhere else. He had spent his best years there and developed more then enough good memories to overpower the bad ones. At least, he hoped.

It had been two weeks since he came back and moved back in, and Mrs. Hudson still couldn't look at him without starting to cry.

But it wasn't because of Sherlock. It was because of John. And Sherlock didn't blame her for crying. He often wanted too as well.

John.

Sherlock's life was now very... devoid. Devoid of contact, devoid of feeling. Sherlock had buried his feelings in his heart, unwilling to continue feeling the pain and the depression.

Now, he only felt empty. Empty and without purpose. 

And soon enough, he didn't need to try and bury the feelings. John's death had taken all feeling away. Sherlock couldn't feel anything anymore. And he didn't try to continue feeling either.

Sherlock soon retired as the world's only consulting detective. Cases no longer gave him a thrill like they used to. But he mostly couldn't handle the overwhelming sympathy everyone gave him when he went out. Lestrade had apologized solemnly and had given him an awkwardly sympathetic hug. Even Anderson and Donovan had expressed their genuine condolences. 

But the last straw was his brother. 

Mycroft had come to visit his brother, and the first thing that he said upon entering, after seeing Sherlock's bloodshot eyes and pale sunken face, was "Sherlock, I'm so sorry."

And the was the first time Sherlock felt anger since John's death.

"You're sorry? Oh, EVERYONE'S so sorry! Where were you, Mycroft? When he was standing on the edge? I told you to WATCH HIM! And now you're sorry?! That's it?! Sherlock exploded, voice loud and filled with venom and malice. 

"Sherlock, I-" Mycroft wasn't allowed to speak, Sherlock cutting him off.

"I've lost the best thing in my life. The only person, I ever truly loved. And all anyone can say is, "Sorry." Do me a favour, Mycroft. Get out. And don't come back." Sherlock voice was level now, but just as hateful as it was before. And Mycroft complied, leaving the flat once more, taking only a moment to look back at his brother, with sorrowful eyes.

"I'm here, Sherlock. When you need it."

Sherlock glared, hard and heavy at his brother. "But you weren't there when John needed it." 

And the door was slammed in Mycroft's face.

That was the last conversation Sherlock had with Mycroft, since John's death that is. And Sherlock hoped it stayed that way.

People stopped visiting, stopped calling and texting. Few emailed him anymore. Sherlock cut all ties off to the outside world.

Sherlock stayed home all day. And he would have gone insane with boredom, if he could still feel anything like boredom. But no, all he could feel was an empty numbness in his heart.

That was how it went for months. And every once in a while, Sherlock would go and visit John's grave. Those days were particularly hard for Sherlock, when he got back to the flat. He would retreat to his bedroom, and sleep, trying to forget John Watson ever existed. That never worked though.

Every dream had John in it, so did every nightmare.

Sherlock remembers a certain dream that might as well been a nightmare.

It was him and John, laying in bed. It was simple and sweet and the way John was looking at him, sleepy smile and love in his eyes, Sherlock knew in that moment he would be with John for the rest of his life. 

Sherlock woke up, and his hand reached out to curl around John's waist, only to fall onto the cold and empty sheets.

Sherlock remembered crying into his pillow for an hour straight.

So, Sherlock stopped sleeping regularly. He just stopped trying.

Sherlock's life wasn't even really a life anymore. 

 

///Page-Break\\\\\

 

Sherlock was sitting on the couch, laptop on his lap as he scrolled through John's blog. He had read each and every entry at least five times now. And each time, his heart would clench painfully and he would have to shut the laptop. It didn't get to reach that point again this time. Not when there was a knock on the door.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in confusion. He had already made it perfectly clear to everyone that he no longer wanted visitors. So, who was knocking on his door? 

Sherlock ignored it. Turning back to the laptop. He thought the knocking would go away, but it didn't. If anything, it became more insistent and even louder.

Sherlock frowned and set the laptop on the table, standing up from the couch and marching to the door where the insistent knocking wasn't ceasing. "I've made it perfectly clear, I do not want anymore-" Sherlock opened the door and...

There was no one there.

"...visitors." Sherlock finished slowly, leaning out to look around. 

No one was even around. 

Sherlock shut the door, stepping back from it. He sighed softly and rubbed his forehead. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. He just needed more sleep. 

Then it happened again. 

Sherlock's eyes shot back open, and he ran forward, throwing open the door, glare coming heavy from his eyes.

Still, no one was there.

"Who's doing this?!" Sherlock called.out, anger filling his voice. This was a STUPID joke! And whoever was playing it was going to get an earful.

No one answered.

Sherlock growled and slammed the door shut. He turned around and walked back to the couch, ready if the knocking started up again.

And the first thing Sherlock noticed, was that his laptop was in a different place. While Sherlock had placed it down, facing the couch, it was , facing him and no longer on John's website. 

It was on his own email, and an email from Lestrade was open. 

Sherlock gulped slightly, looking around, and still seeing no one. He picked the laptop up and sat back down, reading the recent email.

'Dear Sherlock,

While I realize you're retried now, but we could really use your help on this murder case we-'

Sherlock shut the laptop and laid it on the table again. He didn't want to do any cases and he didn't even care how his laptop had mysteriously opened up the new email. 

He just didn't care anymore.

He didn't question why his laptop was moved, he just marked it off as his mind playing tricks on him again. Like with the knocking door.

He really needed more sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter isn't that great, my inspiration was pretty low when I wrote it. Chapter 2 will be coming soon!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this!  
> Lots of love,  
> Tennex <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this!
> 
> Come visit me at my [tumblr!](born-to-die-die-to-live.tumblr.com)


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